


Dating Rust

by toyhto



Category: True Detective
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Marty didn't get back together with Maggie in 1995, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24214399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: Marty and Rust go on a double date.
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

He almost has time to get to his truck.  
  
“Rust,” Marty says from behind his back, his voice a little too casual.  
  
Rust turns slowly. Marty’s walking to him across the parking lot. “Marty.”  
  
Marty smiles at him, then frowns. His face is flushed and he’s rubbing his left elbow, clearly trying to look like there’s nothing unusual on his mind. He’s been like that since the morning, and Rust’s been ignoring him the best he can.  
  
“What’re you doing tonight?” Marty asks. He sounds nervous, which is… probably not good.  
  
Rust says nothing.  
  
“Great,” Marty says and smiles at him. Shit, he already made a mistake and he doesn’t even know what it’s about yet. “That’s just great,” Marty says, takes a step closer and pats him on the arm. “We’re going on a date.”  
  
Rust blinks. “What?”  
  
“You and me,” Marty says, “and two lovely ladies. Steve’s cousin and her friend.”  
  
“Steve’s –“  
  
“You can have the friend,” Marty says and pats him on the shoulder again. The sleeve clings into his skin. It’s early October but the day’s been damp and hot like in the late summer.  
  
“Marty,” he says and takes a deep breath, “absolutely fucking no.”  
  
“What?” Marty asks, looking like it’s hurting his person that Rust doesn’t want to go on a double blind date with him. “You’ve got something better to do than go to a dinner and meet new people?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m not going to ask what that is,” Marty says, and then something shifts on his face. _Fuck._ He’s dropped the smile and now he’s going to try to make Rust feel bad for neglecting him or something. “Listen, man, it’s been half a year since we were separated, Maggie and me.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Rust says. “Marty, this isn’t my fucking business.”  
  
“I don’t expect it to get serious or anything,” Marty says, “this date tonight.” He’s staring at Rust like he’s expecting Rust to save his love life. “But I really need this. I need to go on a date and have a dinner with a nice woman. I need to believe that I can do it. But I can’t do it on my own. You’ve got to help me out with this, Rust.”  
  
That’s just bullshit. There’s nothing Rust could do for Marty on a date, except perhaps ruin the whole thing. But there’s something about Marty when he’s got that look in his eyes. Maybe it’s the same thing that kept Maggie from throwing the idiot out for so long.  
  
“This is a bad idea,” Rust says.  
  
“Please,” Marty says, smiling again. The bastard knows he’s winning. “I’ll owe you one. Or actually, if your date is good company, you’ll owe me one.”  
  
“What time?”  
  
“Eight o’clock,” Marty says. “I’ll pick you up.”  
  
“For fuck’s sake –“  
  
“We’ll go together,” Marty says, “or else you’ll bail. Don’t forget that I know you.” This time he pats Rust on the chest. Rust doesn’t say anything because what’s the point, Marty’s not going to listen to him anyway. He watches as Marty smiles at him one more time and then gets back inside.  
  
So, yeah, at some point he should learn how to say no to Marty.  
  
He gets to his car and drives home.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The date is a disaster, which isn’t surprising at all. But it doesn’t start out bad. Marty knocks on Rust’s front door five minutes before eight and then comes in with his own key, the one he’s still got from when he was bunking with Rust after the break-up. Rust has drunk too much coffee and is smoking in the living room, and Marty walks to him and frowns.  
  
“You smell nice,” Marty says. “What did you do?”  
  
“Took a shower.” The real answer is cologne, but he’s never going to admit that.  
  
Marty laughs and then squeezes Rust’s shoulder. His grip is tight like for a second, he’s not sure if he’s going to let go of Rust. Rust keeps his face blank the best he can. He put on a nice shirt, too, and combed his hair. He doesn’t have a fucking clue why.  
  
Alright, that was a lie.  
  
“Come on,” Marty says, “let’s go. We’re going to meet them in the restaurant.”  
  
This is probably the craziest thing Marty’s made him do so far. He tells Marty that and Marty tells him to pretend that he doesn’t hate people. He kind of wants to point out that he doesn’t, actually, hate people, but they’re already at the yard at that point, so he just gets into his truck and follows Marty to the restaurant. Marty’s clearly made an effort, probably thinks he’s going to get laid, the poor fucker. There’s a chance that he’s right. And he looks nice, new hope in his eyes with excitement and a bit of terror, yeah, that one keeps him from being so annoyingly cocky. At the restaurant, he gets out of the car and waits for Rust to park, and then they go in together.  
  
“Don’t be nervous,” Marty tells him at the door.  
  
“Okay,” he says but puts his hand on the low of Marty’s back, just for a second, just for reassurance. Marty’s alright. He’s got this. He doesn’t look nervous at all, or at least the ladies aren’t going to be able to tell. They can’t read him like Rust can.  
  
They find the women at the counter. Annie and Liza, nice girls, a little over thirty, a middle-school teacher and a nurse. Liza has brown hair and she looks a little like Maggie, which is probably why Geraci set her up with Marty, what an idiot. But Marty seems to like her. And Annie’s clever and also realizes right away that nothing’s going to come out of this, so Rust can just focus on the food and let her deal with the conversation and keep his eyes on Marty, who probably thinks he’s just brilliant at flirting.  
  
Then before dessert, Marty goes to the bathroom and comes back and says something came up, something with the case, and Rust just stares at him because there’s absolutely no way something’s come up with the case they’re currently working on. But Marty’s staring at him with a hint of panic in his eyes, so he stands up and says his apologies and watches as Marty hugs Liza. Then he follows Marty all the way back to his house, parks his truck next to Marty’s car at the yard and goes to the house. He should ask Marty to give him the key back, but he can’t bother.  
  
“I can’t do this,” Marty says, walks to Rust’s kitchen, takes himself a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water. “I just can’t. There’s no way. I just… I thought everything was going well, she was nice and pretty and everything, and I think she liked me, and then I just started thinking… She looked a bit like Maggie, didn’t she?”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says. “Geraci’s an idiot.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Marty says, sits down in a chair and empties his glass of water. “Goddamn. I asked you to come along and then I ruined your evening. I’m sorry, Rust, I was… Did you like her? Annie? Because you can go back. Maybe they’re still there.”  
  
“No,” Rust says. “Don’t worry. I only came tonight because of you.”  
  
"Yeah,” Marty says slowly, “yeah, you’re a good friend.”  
  
“Maybe you shouldn’t be in a hurry. It’s only been half a year.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s just…” Marty takes a deep breath. “I’m lonely. You sure you wouldn’t rather be with Annie now? She seemed like a nice woman.”  
  
“She was,” Rust says. “But I’m sure.”  
  
Marty nods. He’s done something odd with his hair, put stuff in it or something. The damn idiot. His hair is fine as it is. “Do you think I could stay for the night? I don’t feel like going home alone right now.”  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
“If that’s okay with you.”  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“I suppose you’ve still got my old mattress upstairs.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve still got it.” He was supposed to get rid of it after Marty rented a flat in the town and moved out, but he never got to that. There’s still Marty’s toothbrush in the bathroom as well. All these tiny things that don’t mean anything.  
  
“Good,” Marty says and takes a deep breath. “Thanks.”  
  
They stay up until midnight. First, they talk about the case, but there’s not much to talk about it. Then Marty starts asking questions about Alaska, which is just stupid, but he looks like he really wants to know, so Rust tells him. Then he asks Marty a few things, whatever he can think of, mainly because that makes Marty smile like Rust’s given him something. He wishes he was better at this, at talking to people, so Marty would always look at him like that.  
  
When Marty’s gone upstairs, Rust tries to read something but can’t concentrate. A double date, yeah, a terrible idea.  
  
In the morning, Marty’s in Rust’s kitchen, making himself coffee, his hair a mess and his shirt wrinkled. He’s smiling when he tells Rust that he found his toothbrush in the bathroom.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The next time Marty suggests a double date, Rust thinks about pointing out that the idea is insane. But Marty’s talking about this woman he met at the supermarket, and she has a friend, and Marty’s sure Rust would like the friend, and Marty’s got a good feeling about this, alright? That’s what he says and Rust listens to him and can’t make himself say no.  
  
The date’s on Saturday night. Marty comes to his house half an hour early, uses his own key and makes himself coffee when Rust’s still in the shower. When Rust gets out of the bathroom, his hair wet and the towel wrapped around his waist, Marty stares at him and says that they’re going to be late. But he doesn’t sound worried. Rust shows him a few shirts, options, just because he’s right there, and he picks the shirt and Rust puts it on and lets him fix the tie. Marty’s fingers are slow and a little clumsy. Obviously he’s nervous again. Rust tells him it’s going to be alright, he’ll be there, and Marty smiles at him and says he’s got a good feeling about this. This time, they aren’t going to go home alone, Rust and he.  
  
Yeah, right.  
  
This time, when they finally get to the restaurant and meet the women, Marty seems cautious at first. He’s nice and friendly, of course, but he keeps throwing quick glances at Rust like sometimes at work when he wants to know what Rust’s thinking but doesn’t want to ask. Now Rust’s just goddamn glad that Marty doesn’t actually ask him, because this way, he can ignore Marty’s looks. He’s not going to tell Marty what he thinks of Marty’s date. Absolutely not. Her name is Catherine, goes by Kate, she’s a marine biologist, the same age than Marty, sharp eyes, talks a lot but doesn’t take Marty’s bullshit, doesn’t laugh at the stupidest jokes but listens when Marty says something that actually makes sense. She’s kind of perfect for Marty. It’s a mystery how Marty can meet a woman like that in the supermarket.  
  
“So, what do you think?” Marty asks later, when the women go to the bathroom.  
  
Rust shrugs. “Seems nice enough. The marine biology thing is nice.”  
  
Marty bites his lip. “I meant, what do you think of your date?”  
  
 _Oh._ “Yeah. Seems nice.”  
  
“You can’t just say that everyone seems nice,” Marty says, “especially when coming from your mouth that’s probably an insult.”  
  
“No, it’s not.”  
  
“At least she’s pretty, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says, because it doesn’t make a difference either way. Stella, her date, has a degree on English literature, and she talked about Kierkegaard for five minutes after Rust said something about existence being pointless. A good woman. For someone else.  
  
“Very pretty,” Marty says, watching him carefully.  
  
He nods.  
  
“You don’t think she’s pretty?”  
  
“I just said that she is,” Rust says.  
  
“Yeah,” Marty says, rubs his chin, then reaches over the table and pats Rust’s hand, “yeah, but you said it with the wrong tone. You don’t say it like that if you mean it. What’s wrong with you, man? How can you not think she’s pretty?”  
  
“Fucking hell,” Rust says. His hand feels oddly warm from where Marty patted it. That’s new. Touching arms and shoulders and occasionally back is old, hands is new. “She’s pretty. I mean it. Stop analyzing me.”  
  
“Or maybe you could just tell me what your type is,” Marty says. “I’m going to find out eventually.”  
  
“I don’t have a type.”  
  
“Sure you do.”  
  
“They’re coming back,” Rust says, because Marty looks like he’s about to touch Rust’s hand again.  
  
“Oh, right,” Marty says, frowning. “You alright if we stay for the dessert?”  
  
“Yeah, of course.”  
  
“Great,” Marty says, looking worried.  
  
The dessert is fine. It’s chocolate cake, and Rust can’t remember the last time he had that. He has a good conversation about Schopenhauer with Stella. Marty’s watching him with an odd look in his eyes, like he’s trying to figure out how it can be that Rust doesn’t think Stella’s pretty. The idiot’s wasting his time, obviously, because Stella _is_ pretty, it’s just that it’s two different things, seeing the value in something and wanting it for yourself. And he’s not been great at wanting things for himself lately. That’s probably one of the reason why it seems difficult to make sense of what’s been happening in his life this past year. Louisiana. The toothbrush. All that.  
  
“Maybe one more drink,” Marty says after the dessert. He’s looking at Rust. Rust agrees, because he’s not going anywhere from here, definitely not to Stella’s place. There’s no hurry. But when they’re half-way finished that one drink, Stella rests her hand on his arm, just a casual touch, doesn’t feel like anything.  
  
“Actually,” Marty says, “I’m kind of tired. We’ve got this case, it’s tricky, I haven’t been sleeping much. It’s been lovely, ladies, but I think we… I think I should call it a night.”  
  
They leave the restaurant together. Rust kisses Stella on the cheek and doesn’t ask her number, and she doesn’t seem to mind. Marty’s already at his car, doing something with his tie. It looks like he doesn’t even know if he’s trying to make it tighten or loose. Rust walks to his truck and gets in, and when he starts driving, Marty follows him.  
  
“That was weird,” Marty says, when they’re at Rust’s yard. Rust walks to his front door and Marty follows him, hands in his pockets. He’s got that look on his face, the one he uses when he doesn’t want people to get angry at him. It’s a very good look, works about every time. Now he’s wasting it, because Rust’s not angry. He pours himself a glass of apple juice and gives Marty one, and Marty takes a sip and looks surprised about the taste. Maybe he thought it was beer. He’s still staring at Rust.  
  
“Your date,” Rust says slowly, because they’re already at his place, it’s too late anyway, “Catherine, Kate. Too good for you. Much too good.”  
  
Marty sits down in the closest chair, his shoulders slouched and legs sprawled. He looks tired. “You think?”  
  
“Yeah. But, like… in a good way. It’d be good for you, to find someone like that.”  
  
“She was nice,” Marty says, frowning at the apple juice. “I just wasn’t in the mood.”  
  
“For sex?”  
  
Marty snorts. “Yeah, sounds fake, right? But, I don’t know, it was just… I thought your date was great, too. Thought you were even having a good time. For a while.”  
  
“Yeah. Schopenhauer was a little too much for me. I’m more into Sartre, that kind of stuff.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man,” Marty says, but he doesn’t look like he minds. He used to, in the beginning. He used to look at Rust like he was afraid Rust was going to wreck his world by talking some odd shit and he just wanted Rust to shut up. That was a good look on him, too. “I think she liked you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says slowly, “yeah, weird.”  
  
“Not at all.” Marty rubs his forehead. “Don’t you like sex? Is that it?”  
  
“You were the one who wanted to leave.”  
  
“Alright,” Marty says and sighs, “yeah, but you didn’t have to… Goddamn, Rust.”  
  
“I came with you and you wanted to leave,” Rust says and sits down. There’s probably not much harm in saying the things like they are. “I like sex. It’s alright.”  
  
Marty glances at him. “You just aren’t thinking with your dick all the time.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe.”  
  
“I’m going to tell you something,” Marty says slowly, “and if you ever remind me of this, I’m going to say that I was drunk and you should’ve known that I didn’t mean a word. But I mean it. Sometimes I think that you’ve got a good influence on me, Rust. You’re so weird. You hold me back a little. Just the right amount.”  
  
“I’m not exactly trying to hold you back.”  
  
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Marty says, “not in a bad way. But, yeah, it’s good, it’s good that you aren’t letting your dick do all the thinking for you. That’s good.”  
  
Rust crosses his legs.  
  
“Can I stay for the night, man?” Marty asks.  
  
Rust should probably say no. There’re reasons why that’d make sense. “Yeah. Of course.”  
  
“I’ve still got the toothbrush.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Thanks,” Marty says. “Sorry I dragged you away from Stella.”  
  
“That’s alright, I like you better anyway,” Rust says, stands up and goes to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror looks a little annoyed at him. Or disappointed. But not surprised.  
  
They sit in the kitchen for a while. Marty complains about Rust not having a television and Rust tells him what he thinks about television, and then they have a very awkward conversation about Marty and Maggie. There’s a limited amount of ways for Rust to tell Marty to shut up when Marty’s obviously decided he needs to talk about something, so Rust tries and fails and Marty talks about the things he thinks went wrong with Maggie over the years. Rust definitely doesn’t want to hear about how the sex was great, no matter what else was going on, and maybe Marty gets that finally because he changes the subject. Then they talk about the weather for a while.  
  
In the morning, Marty takes a shower and drinks coffee in Rust’s kitchen and says they should go for a walk. It’s a nice morning. Then apparently he realizes what he’s saying and goes home instead.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“It’s going to be different this time,” Marty says to Rust three weeks later, “I promise. This woman, I met her at church. And she’s got a friend who’s single and an atheist. She’s worried about her. It’s perfect.”  
  
“I didn’t know you were going to church,” Rust says.  
  
“Yeah,” Marty says and looks away from him. They’re at a gas station somewhere, drinking coffee from paper cups. “I didn’t know how to tell you, man. I knew you wouldn’t like it.”  
  
“I don’t mind you going to church.”  
  
Marty snorts. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah. I already know you’re an idiot.”  
  
“You’re full of shit,” Marty says, but he’s smiling. “I hope you know that.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.”  
  
“I don’t know why I like you.”  
  
“Yeah, me neither,” Rust says and lights a cigarette.  
  
Marty’s quiet for a while. “Anyway, I thought, I’ll take the atheist and you can have the Christian.”  
  
Rust bites his lip.  
  
“Just kidding,” Marty says and reaches over to pat him on the arm. He smiles around the cigarette and Marty leaves his fingers on his elbow for a few additional seconds. Definitely worth a smile.  
  
Goddamn, he’s a mess.  
  
“You can have the atheist,” Marty says and finishes his coffee. “So the two of you can look down on the rest of us from your high horse.”  
  
“I’m not doing that.”  
  
“Yeah, you are.”  
  
Yeah, he is. “Alright.”  
  
“Great,” Marty says. “So, Friday evening?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’ll let them know it’s settled,” Marty says and stays quiet for a while. “I feel like I’m getting so used to your company that soon I don’t know how to go on a date without you at all. Sorry about that, man.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Rust says.  
  
  
**  
  
  
On Friday, Rust drives home from work and wants nothing but drink himself numb and pass out on his mattress as soon as possible. There’s a new case, a child, and he wasn’t expecting how hard it hit him in the face, seeing the murder scene. It’s almost like something’s happening to him. He doesn’t like it. He used to have all this… all this mess, this sorrow and everything that comes with it, pushed so deep that it barely ever got out at work. But apparently not anymore.  
  
Marty comes to his place before seven. They’re supposed to meet the women in the restaurant at nine. Rust doesn’t go to the door, but it doesn’t make a difference because Marty unlocks the door with his own key, walks to the kitchen, drinks a glass of water, then goes through Rust’s fridge and makes disappointed sounds. He’s not even changed clothes yet. He takes a box of yoghurt and pours some in a bowl, and then he walks to Rust and sits down on the mattress next to him.  
  
“This fucking day,” Marty says and starts eating the yoghurt.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“There’s sugar in this,” Marty says and glances at Rust.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I didn’t think you ate sugar.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Marty shrugs. “The way you look, I think. Your arms and everything.”  
  
“You’ve been checking out my arms?”  
  
“Kind of impossible not to notice,” Marty says, not looking at him.  
  
“Well,” he says and takes a deep breath. This fucking day, yeah. But it’s getting a little better now that Marty’s here with him. “I exercise a lot. Helps me not to think.”  
  
Marty snorts but doesn’t sound happy. “I suppose I’d do that too, if I were you. I mean, the thoughts in your head… Can’t wonder why you want to think less.”  
  
“It’s not like I tell you everything.”  
  
“Lucky me,” Marty says and then freezes for a second. “No. No, it’s not good. I want you to talk to me, Rust. Really. Even if it’s some weird shit that’s going to ruin my sleep.”  
  
“Do you, now?”  
  
“Yeah. You’ve got to know that.”  
  
“Maybe.” Rust takes a deep breath. Shit, he’s tired. “I’m not good at that. Talking.”  
  
“Yeah, you are.”  
  
“I mean, it’s always too much or too little. What I say.”  
  
“You can’t be too much with me,” Marty says, obviously meaning it, the idiot. “I’m already stuck with you.”  
  
“Thanks,” Rust says, because he just doesn’t have the energy to brush it off now.  
  
“Yeah,” Marty says slowly, “you and me, bud, we’re the thing. Can’t get rid of me, no matter what you do.”  
  
There’re quite a few things Rust can think of that would definitely make Marty want to get rid of him.  
  
“Want some yoghurt?” Marty says. “I took too much.”  
  
“Alright,” Rust says, taking the bowl. _I took too much,_ yeah, that could be Marty’s middle name. He bites his lip.  
  
“What’re you laughing at?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Marty pokes him at the side with his elbow. “You bastard.”  
  
“You’re kind of early, man,” Rust says, “considering our date. I’d like to get ready properly. And you should too.”  
  
“What?” Marty asks, licking his lips. “You saying that I don’t look good?”  
  
“Wouldn’t dare,” Rust says, “but, you know. You stink.”  
  
Now Marty’s actually smiling. “What? You stink, too, man. We’ve been doing the same thing for the whole day, driving around.”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says, “I’m going to take a shower. Put on something nice, you know. Nice clothes. For our date.”  
  
“Yeah, you should do that. Listen, man, I’ve got some clothes in my car. I thought I’d just take a shower here.”  
  
“You worried you can’t get your water bill paid or something?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Marty says.  
  
“Yeah, fuck you, too,” Rust says and finishes the yoghurt. “Want to watch when I do some push-ups?”  
  
“You know, I used to think you didn’t know what humor is,” Marty says, watching him. “But you’re actually brilliant.”  
  
Rust frowns.  
  
“Don’t look like that, surely someone’s said it before.”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says, “no, it’s…” He stands up. Shit, all he wants is to take a shower and to have Marty still here, sitting on his bed, when he’s done. And he could eat, too, wouldn’t even mind going to the restaurant. It’s just too bad that there’re other people involved. A Christian and an atheist. Like it’s a joke. A Christian, an atheist, an asshole, and Marty go to the bar.  
  
“Rust,” Marty says.  
  
“I’m alright,” Rust says and walks to the kitchen. “I just need a minute. This day –“  
  
“Yeah,” Marty says and then pretends to read one of Rust’s books for a moment, so Rust can sit in the kitchen and say nothing. Goddamn, he’s good.  
  
  
**  
  
  
It’s surprisingly difficult to remember which one is the Christian and which one is the atheist. They’re so much alike. Maybe that should be philosophically exciting but he’s just not in the mood now. He’s got a headache and he doesn’t want to talk about the politics and he doesn’t know anything about the development in New Orleans in the past decade, and it turns out that he’s not even hungry. He probably ate too much yoghurt.  
  
Marty looks nice, though. He doesn’t seem to know anything about the development issue either, so pretty soon the women are talking to each other. No one seems to mind. Marty opens the top button of his shirt and looks at Rust across the table. Earlier, when they were getting ready at Rust’s place, Marty made him look at three almost identical shirts and pick one. Fucking absurd, the whole thing, he was drinking coffee too fast and Marty was just standing there in his jeans and nothing else, holding the shirts up one by one and asking Rust what he thought of them. They were all fine. And he was only looking at Marty anyway.  
  
There’re some things he can control. And this is one of them. This could probably go on like this forever.  
  
The date, however, ends eventually. Marty says he’s tired, the women are tired, too, probably because they fixed a hundred years’ worth of development issues for the biggest city in the goddamn state. Rust is tired with himself. The women leave with one car and he and Marty leave with Marty’s car, the same way they got here. He sits down in the passenger seat and closes his eyes, just for a second. It's kind of funny that it seems no one here thought this date would go anywhere.  
  
“So,” Marty says, “want to stop somewhere or go straight home?”  
  
Rust opens his eyes. “I don’t know. Stop where?”  
  
“Well,” Marty says, “I’m thinking, maybe McDonalds.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I want a milkshake.”  
  
Rust glances at him. The idiot’s looking determined. “We just ate.”  
  
“I’m going to buy you one, too,” Marty says. “You’ll like it. Unless you’re sure you want to go straight home.”  
  
“No,” Rust says, “no, we can go get you a milkshake. I’m not in a hurry.”  
  
“Great,” Marty says.  
  
There’re only teenagers at the parking lot of McDonalds, and the two of them. The milkshake is alright. Rust finishes his and then looks at Marty sucking through the striped straw with a focused look on his face. It takes ages. Maybe he’s dragging it out on purpose, only Rust can’t think so, because then he has to think about why.  
  
“They were nice,” he says, just to say something, to distract his brain.  
  
Marty blinks. “The girls? Yeah.”  
  
“I’ve never been to New Orleans.”  
  
“Really?” Marty frowns at him. “We should go some time.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“Just the two of us. It’s not like you’ve got other friends anyway.”  
  
He stares at Marty.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“No, that wasn’t…” He takes a deep breath. “We can go to New Orleans.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“It’d be great,” Marty says, “we could have fun. Or I could have fun and you could… watch me and disapprove.”  
  
“You still got something in that mug or are you trying to eat the straw?”  
  
“Some things in life,” Marty says, “they’re better if you take your time. Don’t worry, I’ll take you home.”  
  
“I’m not worried.”  
  
Marty finishes the milkshake and starts the engine. “I think I suck at dating.”  
  
Oh, shit. Rust’s not ready for this conversation. “You don’t suck.”  
  
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Marty says, squeezing his hands on the wheel. He sounds like he’s about to panic. Rust just fucking wishes they could get to his house at first. “I haven’t slept with anyone in six months. And this time, I think I knew before we even got there that I was going to leave with you.”  
  
“Well, you did make me come in your car.”  
  
“It just seemed convenient.” Marty takes a deep breath. “I always thought I was good with women. But maybe that was because I already had one. Because this dating thing… I don’t know, man.”  
  
Rust bites his lip. “Maybe your dates would go better if you stopped dragging me along.”  
  
“I’m not going to do that,” Marty says.  
  
Rust takes a deep breath. A braver man would ask why.  
  
“It’s good that you’re there,” Marty says, his voice quiet now. There’s country music playing on the radio. “Because then there’s at least one person around that I actually like.”  
  
“Maybe you shouldn’t date women you don’t like.”  
  
“No, I like them alright. I just don’t know them. Not like you.” Marty pauses. “Sorry.”  
  
“What the fuck are you apologizing for? Knowing me?”  
  
“Yeah. No. Sorry.”  
  
“Bloody hell,” Rust says. He should’ve asked for two milkshakes. It’d be good to have something to do now.  
  
“You didn’t like the atheist, then?” Marty asks in a hopeful voice. It all is just a little bit too much.  
  
“I don’t mind the church thing,” Rust says, turning to look at him. “And I don’t actually think that you’re an idiot. I just think your conception of your own existence is very narrow and limited and you deliberately refuse to challenge yourself on that.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Marty says, “I think you’re just a smug bastard who thinks he’s better than the rest of us because he doesn’t believe in anything. And that’s just bullshit. You believe in things. Like the rest of us. We’re here.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“At your house.” Marty stops the car. “You don’t mind the church thing?”  
  
“Yeah. No, I don’t.”  
  
“Okay. Not that I care, but… okay.”  
  
“Yeah. I can’t think why that’d matter either way.”  
  
“What’re you doing now?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Rust says slowly, “I thought, maybe you’d like to come inside and complain some more about how you haven’t got laid in six months.”  
  
Marty snorts and then falls quiet. Rust looks at the house through the window. It’s dark and empty, and there’s a real chance that Marty won’t come inside with him. There’s no reason for him to. He could just tell Rust to get out of the car and drive away.  
  
“I’m thinking,” Marty says and opens the side door, “maybe I’m not as bad at it as I think. At dating, I mean. Because it seems that every time, I’m going home with someone.”  
  
Rust gets out of the car. “Yeah, right. Because I’m a real catch.”  
  
Marty follows him to the house. “That’s a very nice shirt.”  
  
“You should’ve told me that you like blue.”  
  
“I didn’t know,” Marty says and walks to his kitchen. “How badly you’d get pissed at me if I got you a television?”  
  
“Badly.”  
  
“Maybe for Christmas.”  
  
“Goddamn, Marty,” he says and follows Marty to the kitchen, leans against the counter only a feet away from him. He smells of Rust’s shampoo. “Maybe this is the reason why you don’t have any luck with women. You go around buying televisions for other men.”  
  
“Only you,” Marty says, watching him. Rust’s almost sure that Marty doesn’t know what’s going on in here, and if he had to guess, he’d say that Marty doesn’t even realize that _something’s_ going on. But that’d be just a guess. There’s something odd about the way Marty’s looking at him, thoughtfully.  
  
Maybe he’s guessed something.  
  
“Maybe a tiny television,” Marty says. “You wouldn’t even notice it.”  
  
It takes Rust a second to realize he’s smiling. “Fuck off,” he says, but of course Marty doesn’t fuck off. They sit in the kitchen for almost two hours, and then Marty goes upstairs to sleep and Rust lies down on his mattress and stares at the ceiling.  
  
Maybe nothing’s going on. Maybe it’s just him believing in things.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

He tries to disappear to the evidence room but Steve Geraci catches him.  
  
“Marty,” Steve says, patting him on the shoulder, “where’s your shadow?”  
  
“Rust’s making a call,” Marty says. “Why?”  
  
“No reason,” Steve says. “I hear you’ve been going on dates with him.”  
  
Marty nods and bites his lip. “Yeah.”  
  
“Last weekend, you said –“  
  
“A lovely woman I met at church. And her friend. Yeah, it was nice.”  
  
“It’s a bit hard to see, man, why you’re dragging him along,” Steve says, frowning. “Did you lose a bet or something?”  
  
“No,” Marty says with a nice enough smile. “Fuck off, Steve.”  
  
“Alright. It’s just, my wife’s cousin is in town and I think you’d like her.”  
  
“Alright,” Marty says slowly. “What’s she like?”  
  
“Pretty.”  
  
He waits for a second, but it seems that’s all Steve’s got to say. “Alright.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You can go on a date without Rust?”  
  
Goddamn. “Yeah, I can go on a date without Rust, you fucking git.”  
  
“Just checking,” Steve says and pats him on the shoulder again. “Her name’s Diane.”  
  
“Okay,” Marty says, and Steve says something about how he’s sure Marty’s going to get lucky now that he finally gets out without Rust for fucking once. Then Steve says something about his car. Marty’s not really listening anymore.  
  
When Steve finally gets tired and shuts up, Marty goes to the kitchen and fills two mugs with coffee. He takes one to Rust. Rust takes the cup and glances at him.  
  
“What?” Rusts asks.  
  
“Nothing,” Marty says and sits down at his own desk.  
  
He tells about it to Rust before they leave the station that evening. He says something like _I’ve got a date,_ and Rust says _yeah_ , and then he has to tell Rust that there’s only one woman, he’s going to go alone, and Rust says _yeah_ again with almost exactly the same tone, only there _is_ a difference but Marty can’t put his finger on it. He stares at Rust and Rust stares back at him, probably wondering why the hell he’s being weird about this. He’s wondering it as well.  
  
And the funny thing is, he kind of wants to apologize to Rust.  
  
  
**  
  
  
There’s absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t go on a date without Rust. He tries but can’t think of anything. It’s not like Rust’s been interested in any of the women they’ve met, no, he’s pretty sure Rust’s stuck along because of him. Rust wouldn’t be interested in Steve’s wife’s cousin. Rust’s probably happy that he doesn’t have to come with Marty this time. He doesn’t _look_ happy, but he doesn’t look disappointed either, and why the fuck would he be disappointed, anyway?  
  
But at Saturday night, Marty eats pasta and meatballs with Steve’s wife’s friend, then asks her if she wants a drink, just because he can’t stop wondering why it’s so weird that Rust’s not here. The drink doesn’t help much. They talk about dogs and why clouds look like they do, and then he tells her he should be going home. She doesn’t seem disappointed. He gets to the car and drives to Rust’s place.  
  
“Don’t say anything,” he says when Rust opens the door.  
  
Rust blinks at him but steps aside and lets him in. Alright, he’s probably losing his mind or something. He walks to Rust’s kitchen, takes a glass of water and then goes through the fridge. There’s something that looks like a few days old chicken sandwich. It tastes a few days old, too. But he doesn’t mind. He looks at a point on the counter and Rusts drags a chair to him and sits down.  
  
“That was my breakfast,” Rust says finally.  
  
Marty shakes his head. He’s almost finished the sandwich. “Bullshit. You don’t eat breakfast.”  
  
“No,” Rust says. He sounds happy that Marty’s noticed. He sounds… no, Marty doesn’t have a clue what he sounds like. He can’t read anything on Rust, doesn’t fucking know what’s going on in the man’s head, doesn’t know what’s going on in his own head, either, which is kind of exponentially fucking worse.  
  
He puts the rest of the sandwich aside and buries his face in his hands.  
  
“Wasn’t your type, then?” Rust says. At least now he sounds like he always does, which is, not interested.  
  
“No,” Marty says, which is kind of a lie. He doesn’t know if she was his type or not. He didn’t really have it in him to find out. And what’s his type, anyway? How would he know? The only person he keeps coming back to these days seems to be Rust.  
  
“You don’t have her waiting in the car while you empty my fridge, do you?”  
  
“No,” Marty says and takes a deep breath, “no, I wouldn’t do that, would never empty your fridge, man. You’ve got to eat, too. Like the rest of us.”  
  
“True.”  
  
Marty bites his lip and then looks at Rust. Fucking hell. Rust frowns at him, takes a cigarette and lights it.  
  
“She was nice,” Marty says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”  
  
“Me neither.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Rust’s eyes are _definitely_ smiling. “Finish the sandwich. Unless you’re saving it for breakfast.”  
  
“I think,” Marty says, “I _think_ that for breakfast, we’re going to go somewhere. I want pancakes. Pancakes and ice cream. We’re going to go somewhere for that, alright?”  
  
“I don’t have ice cream. And I can’t make pancakes.”  
  
“See? Just as I suspected.”  
  
“You’ve got your moments,” Rust says. “Marty –“  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’ve got to ask you something.”  
  
 _Oh, god._ Marty straightens his back. “Yeah?”  
  
“Because you stopped short your date with a nice woman who’s not even related to Steve Geraci,” Rust says, “and then you came to me.”  
  
Marty bites his lip.  
  
“Are you feeling sorry for me or what?”  
  
“What?” he asks and then thinks about it, but it still doesn’t make sense. “ _What?_ ”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says slowly, “because if that’s what this is about, if you’ve got some kind of a project going on where you think that I’m so lonely I can’t stand to be alone for one night when you’re on a date, and if that’s why you came to me tonight…”  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
“And I mean, this whole thing, you going on dates with me,” Rust says and blinks, “double dates, if that’s why you’re doing it –“  
  
“It’s not,” Marty says, reaches over and pats Rust on the arm. Then he just leaves his hand there. Rust looks like he’s going to need some convincing anyway. “It’s _not._ It’s just… it’s better if you’re there with me. And don’t you like it? Don’t you –“  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says, “yeah, I like it. I like eating in restaurants with you.”  
  
“Good,” Marty says.  
  
“Yeah. Good. But –“  
  
“Don’t,” Marty says and squeezes Rust’s arm before letting go. Rust glances at his arm and then returns his gaze onto Marty’s face again. “You’re going to ruin this somehow,” Marty says. “Just don’t. I like it, you like it. And it’s not like you’ve got something else to do on Saturday nights.”  
  
“I could just buy a television,” Rust says.  
  
“You don’t mean that,” Marty says and smiles, just to see if he can. “You aren’t going to buy a television, Rust.”  
  
“I suppose not.”  
  
“Because you think it’s much more entertaining to watch me making a fool of myself in front of two ladies.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“I’m a fucking mess, Rust,” he says. “Right?”  
  
Rust nods. Marty nods too, then finishes eating the sandwich. He’s going to take Rust for breakfast somewhere, alright, they’re going to have pancakes and ice cream and Rust’s going to like it. Maybe they could go to that place where he used to go with Maggie and the girls years ago. Coffee was good there.  
  
“Can I stay for the night?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah, of course,” Rust says in an easy voice. Marty appreciates the effort.  
  
In the morning, he tells Rust to get to the car, and then he drives a circle for a while until he finally finds the right place. It’s been painted blue. They get inside and he orders for the both of them, and Rust looks like he’s doing his best not to let Marty see he’s enjoying all this. Marty asks the waitress to get Rust’s pancakes with extra whipped cream, just because he can, just because Rust’s only sitting there, letting him get away with all this. A small miracle. And then when the pancakes finally arrive, Rust gets whipped cream on the tip of his nose and he looks like he’s going to kill someone, and Marty _knows_ that’s him and that Rust would probably be frighteningly competent at killing people. But he can’t stop smiling.   
  
  
**  
  
  
It's a goddamn surprise when Steve’s wife’s friend calls him. He almost drops the phone when he realizes who it is, and Rust’s looking at him like he thinks maybe Marty ought to be in hospital and not at work. He wants to tell Rust to mind his own goddamn business, but he can’t, because he’s still on the phone with Steve’s wife’s friend and it turns out she wants to go on another date with him.  
  
“Yeah,” he tells her and tries to ignore Rust who’s staring at him, “yeah, that’d be nice, only… do you have any friends?”  
  
She seems a little confused about that. Rust looks like he doesn’t think he’ll be able to put up with Marty’s bullshit ‘till the end of the day.  
  
“I mean,” Marty says and rests his hand on Rust’s shoulder, “I’ve got this friend, and I thought maybe we could go on a double date.”  
  
It's almost like having his hand on Rust’s shoulder is making the murderous look in Rust’s eyes to scale down a little. Well, that’s good.  
  
“Yeah,” he says to the phone, “yeah, okay. Well, he’s handsome, obviously, I’m actually a bit worried that once you get a good look at him, you don’t want to bother with me anymore. But, well, yeah… yeah, he’s a cop. Like me. He’s my partner, actually. And… yeah, dark hair, intense eyes, good… good arms. Very good-looking. And… no, he’s not exactly a _funny_ guy, but he’s clever, so… you think your friend might like him? Great, that’s great, so we can… okay. On Saturday night? No, no, I don’t need to ask him. We’ll be there. Yeah. Great to hear from you again… Diane. Yeah. See you, too.”  
  
He hangs up.  
  
“What the hell?” Rust asks but doesn’t sound angry.  
  
“Don’t look at me like that,” Marty says. “She said her friend might like you. Apparently she’s clever, too. And I know that you aren’t doing anything else on Saturday night, so –“  
  
“No,” Rust says, “no, I mean, what the hell, what was that about my arms?”  
  
Marty bites his lip. “Man, you know I like your arms.”  
  
“You’re out of your mind,” Rust says and lights a cigarette. He’s not exactly smiling but there’s something happening with his mouth that’s not a scowl. He’s delighted that Marty got another double date for them, the poor bastard. Or maybe he’s thinking about his arms. Marty pats him on the back and gets back to work.  
  
  
**  
  
  
On Saturday evening, Marty goes to Rust’s house an hour early. Rust opens the door. He’s already gotten ready, is wearing that one blue shirt Marty likes, and there’s cologne, definitely, and he’s got a tie, and his hair is looking fluffier than usually. He looks almost nervous. Maybe he’s not feeling social tonight. But it’s going to be okay once they get there, and Marty’s going to be there with him. It's just the two of them going for a dinner, and two women. A nice evening.  
  
“Alright?” Marty asks anyway, when he’s sitting in Rust’s kitchen and Rust’s passed him a beer.  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says. “Why?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Marty blinks. “You have beer.”  
  
“You like it,” Rust says.  
  
Well, that’s true. “Thanks.”  
  
“Don’t get used to it. You’re early.”  
  
“You’re early, too,” Marty says. “You look good, man.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Rust says. “I found a good article about existentialism this week. Want me to read the best parts to you?”  
  
“Of course,” Marty says. He’s proud of his goddamn sense of humor for half a minute and then he regrets it, because there’s actually an article, and Rust takes it and starts reading him the best parts, and the article is long, and apparently there’re a lot of best parts. And they all are about how unfortunate it is that anyone should exist.  
  
Rust looks happy, though, in his quiet suffering way. He throws quick glances at Marty as if to check that Marty’s not fallen asleep yet, and Marty stares at his hands and his wrist and the tattoo that reaches from under the sleeve his rolled up on his elbow. He smells good, too. Diane’s friend is a lucky girl. Except for the existentialism, of course.  
  
  
**  
  
  
For half an hour, everything goes fine. Marty introduces Rust, Diane introduces her friend, they get to the table, order food, eat, talk, laugh a little. But then it begins to look like Rust actually likes the woman – Charlotte, yeah, that’s her name, and Marty doesn’t like her. Doesn’t know why but just doesn’t. He’s got a bad feeling about this. Charlotte seems alright, but something’s off. And Rust’s looking at Marty all the time, but he’s also talking to her, and his shoulders are relaxed, and he just told a tale about his childhood in Alaska, and Marty just can’t take this. Maybe he’s drunk or something. Or maybe he’s finally losing his mind. But he doesn’t think Charlotte’s good enough for Rust. For a quick shag, maybe, but he can’t imagine Rust sleeping with her, no, the idea is just… he doesn’t fucking know what it is about, alright? He just doesn’t want Rust to go home with that woman.  
  
He manages to eat half of his steak and then he stands up. “I’ll go outside for a second,” he says. He’s very good at pretending he’s not stressed when he is, actually, very stressed. He smiles at Diane. “I’ve got to make a call.”  
  
“Alright,” Diane says and brushes her fingers against his wrist.  
  
“Yeah,” he says and smiles once more, just to be sure this doesn’t look odd. He can’t bear to glance at Rust, but then he glances anyway, and Rust’s watching him with a frown. “I’ll be right back,” he says and escapes.  
  
Outside, it’s dark and almost cold. He wishes he’d have taken his jacket but can’t go back for it. Rust’s there talking with Charlotte, smiling and telling stories, and he’s got a feeling that maybe this time, Rust’s actually going to leave with the woman. They came with Marty’s car, but maybe Rust’s going to leave in Charlotte’s. And on Monday, Marty’s going to hear all about it at work. Or he’s going to read it on Rust’s face. He’s going to -  
  
He hears the door open and glances over his shoulder. Rust stops next to him, so close that their arms are almost brushing, and takes the box of cigarettes out of his pocket.  
  
“Everything alright?” Rust asks, looking at the parking lot.  
  
Marty opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and turns to Rust. This doesn’t make sense at all. He puts his hands onto Rust’s shoulders, gives Rust maybe a second to realize what he’s about to do, even though he’s not quite certain about it yet, either, and then he steps over to Rust and kisses the man on the mouth.  
  
Their noses bump together. He doesn’t fucking know how to do this. He kisses Rust and Rust doesn’t kiss him back, only he barely has time to think about that, before both Rust’s hands close behind his neck. Rust pulls him close and keeps him there. He opens his mouth a little, Rust kisses him with teeth and goddamn _tongue_ and then, before he can do anything about it, pushes him away.  
  
“What?” he says, trying to breathe. “What was –“  
  
“Not here,” Rust says. He’s still got one hand on Marty’s shoulder, his fingers squeezing through Marty’s shirt.  
  
Marty blinks.  
  
“Anyone could see,” Rust says.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
“Yeah,” Marty says. “Yeah, that makes sense. Rust, I –“  
  
“Don’t,” Rust says but doesn’t let go of his shoulder. “This isn’t… this is the wrong place, Marty, I can’t…”  
  
 _The wrong place for what_ , Marty thinks. He’s got a feeling that maybe he’s not breathing properly. He feels a little light in the head. He’s pretty sure that he just, well, that he _kissed_ Rust, and if he’s right, Rust kissed him back, and now Rust’s still got a hand on his shoulder, and he should shrug it off but he can’t, he needs it, he needs Rust to hold onto him and tell him it actually happened. And he needs Rust to tell him what the fuck’s going on in here. And…  
  
And they’ve got their dates inside, waiting for them to get back.  
  
“We should…” he says and nods at the door.  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says and lets go of his shoulder. He looks at Marty for a few seconds, his mouth ajar, his eyes blank. He’s opened the top button of his blue shirt at some point.  
  
Marty opens his mouth, and Rust turns and goes back in.  
  
The women don’t seem surprised when Marty tells them he’s got to get home, he’s got a headache and there’s a lot to do and he’s got an early morning and his aunt is sick and he probably let the stove on anyway. When he finally manages to shut up, the women are looking at each other and Rust’s not looking at anyone. Well, they’ve only got one car, so Rust can’t get home without Marty, unless he’s a total bastard about it and walks. He could easily do that. Just to piss Marty off. Just to…  
  
Oh, god, he _kissed_ Rust. Just a moment ago. And now he’s got to sit here and look normal and not think about how _good_ it was, for as long as it lasted, which was probably three seconds or something. But it was good. And surely Rust wanted to kiss him, surely Rust wouldn’t have used his fucking _teeth_ if he didn’t. Marty never thought Rust would be a faggot but then again, he’s not either, so they’re kind of even, right? Maybe they just like kissing each other. Maybe…  
  
“Marty,” Rust says in a sharp voice, “get up. We’re leaving.”  
  
Marty nods. That’s true. He said himself that he wanted to leave. He takes care of his half of the bill and gives Diane a kiss on the cheek and it feels wrong with Rust being _right there._ Rust shakes Charlotte’s hand like an idiot, and Marty wants to say that aloud, wants to push him at the chest and tell him he’s being an idiot, maybe grab the front of his shirt and shove him against the doorframe or something. Oh, shit. He follows Rust to his car and doesn’t protest when Rust takes the keys from him. He sits down in the passenger seat and stares through the window while Rust drives them home. Maybe if he touched Rust’s knee now, Rust would tell him to fuck off. Or maybe Rust would stop the car and -  
  
What the fuck’s _wrong_ with him?  
  
“Marty,” Rust says when they’re at his yard.  
  
“It’s alright,” Marty says and takes a deep breath. “I’m just going to take my car and –“  
  
Rust turns to him.  
  
He grabs Rust’s thigh and then, when Rust doesn’t do anything, doesn’t knock him in the face, he leans closer and pushes their mouths together. He’s good at kissing, alright, he’s got _skills,_ but he now he can’t fucking think. He can’t _breathe._ Rust’s definitely kissing him back this time, and he needs to get closer, only when he tries to, the stick pokes him at the crotch.  
  
“What the fuck am I doing?” he asks Rust.  
  
“I don’t know,” Rust says against his mouth and kisses him again.  
  
“What’re _you_ doing?”  
  
“Shut up,” Rust says.  
  
“No,” Marty says and takes Rust’s face in between his hands. He must’ve shaved right before Marty came tonight. Well, of course he shaved, he was going on a date with Marty. That’s why he’s wearing the blue shirt, too, he’s wearing it for Marty and no one else. “No, I need to… what’s happening here, man, it’s not like we are…”  
  
“What?” Rusts asks and kisses him. His voice is low and hoarse. “It’s not like what?”  
  
“We aren’t… you aren’t…” But he’s kind of trying to push the tip of his thumb into Rust’s mouth now. He blinks and pulls back a little. Rust doesn’t seem to mind the thumb in his mouth, though. “ _Fuck._ ”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says.  
  
“But you don’t… _really?”  
  
_ “Anything,” Rust says, “I don’t mind. Just tell me.”  
  
“I don’t…” But he can’t even finish that sentence, and Rust’s watching him like this is actually happening. “Rust –“  
  
“Marty,” Rust says and licks his lips, only Marty’s thumb resting against his lower lip so he kind of licks at it, too. He looks like he’s not sure what he’s thinking or what’s coming out of his mouth or who he is. And he stills smells terrifyingly good. It’s got to be the cologne. “Are you coming in?”  
  
Marty tries to think about it but can’t. “Yeah.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
He nods.  
  
In Rust’s house, the lights are too bright. Marty takes off his jacket and then his tie, too. His hands are shaking a little but Rust’s not watching him now. Rust walks to the cupboard and takes something down from the upper shelf. It looks like whiskey. Marty should tell him not to, but he just stares as Rust raises the bottle onto his mouth and drinks from it, and then he takes the bottle from Rust. Their fingers brush together. The whiskey’s good and everything makes a little more sense for a second. Rust’s _right there._ And they should definitely talk about this. It’s not like they’re just about to fuck or something like that, absolutely not, that’d be just insane.  
  
Marty opens his mouth, glances at Rust, walks to Rust and kisses him.  
  
“We should talk,” he says.  
  
Rust grabs his hips and walks him backwards until he’s got his back pushed against the wall. “So, talk.”  
  
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”  
  
“I _know_ ,” Rust says. “Want to stop?”  
  
Marty kisses him.  
  
“Because,” Rust says, pushes his fingers into Marty’s hair and holds Marty still as he pulls back, “because I’m not going to do anything you don’t want. You’ve got to tell me if you –“  
  
“Are we going to fuck?”  
  
Rust looks at him like he’s wondering if maybe they’ve both lost their minds. “Literally, no. You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re doing.”  
  
“I’m sure I’d be very –“  
  
“Marty.”  
  
He takes a deep breath. “Alright. Yeah, I don’t have a fucking clue. I’m just… Man, can you just… I don’t know, _something?_ ”  
  
“I can jerk you off,” Rust says, and it’s fucking unfair that he almost sounds composed again, like he’s had time to think it over and he’s not flushed and out of his mind and hard in his pants, only he _is,_ Marty can fucking see that, he’s got _eyes._ “I’ll jerk you off,” Rust says again, like he thinks maybe Marty didn’t catch it the first time, “and in the morning you can say that you were just horny.”  
  
“I’m not going to say that,” Marty says.  
  
“It’s alright if you do.”  
  
“I like you,” Marty says, “I didn’t think it was like this but I like you, man, you’re brilliant, you’re –“  
  
He forgets the rest. Rust’s opening his zipper, no, Rust’s got his hand in his boxers, no, Rust’s pushing his boxers and everything else down on his thighs, so that the cold air catches with him and helps him get a grasp on things for maybe a second, only then Rust gets a hand on his cock. He closes his eyes and opens them again. He always knew that Rust’s got clever fingers, he always knew, and now all he can do is stare at Rust’s mouth and hope Rust would kiss him. Rust does. And again. And he unzips his own jeans, too, looks at Marty as if he’s waiting for Marty to protest or something, kisses Marty again, tugs his boxers down and comes closer until he gets a grip on both of their cocks at once. It doesn’t work out well. It’s a fucking mess, and it shouldn’t work at all, but there’s a funny feeling that’s apparently the length of Rust’s cock sliding against Marty’s, and it’s just bloody _insane_ , and, yeah, yeah, _yeah_ -  
  
He comes and then bats Rust’s hand away, because there’s no way he’s going to pass an opportunity to get his hand on Rust’s cock. He can fucking _taste_ his heart in his mouth. Rust’s cock feels like a… like a cock, nothing special, only this is Rust, and Rust’s saying Marty’s name like it means everything, and none of this makes sense, and then when Rust comes in Marty’s hand, he lets out a breath that sounds like he’s broken. Like Marty broke him.  
  
“Listen,” Marty says, pushing his fingers into Rust’s hair. It’s sticky. Or maybe what’s sticky is his fingers. He strokes Rust’s hair and tries to catch his breathes. “It’s alright.”  
  
Rust doesn’t say anything, only leans against him like he doesn’t remember how to stand on his feet. Or maybe there’s something wrong with the gravity.  
  
“Can I sleep in your bed?” Marty asks. He’s not sure if he meant to ask that, but now it’s there.  
  
“I don’t sleep,” Rust says.  
  
“You can watch me sleep then.”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says and wraps his arm around Marty’s back, “yeah, I can do that.”  
  
  
  
**  
  
  
He wakes up with Rust’s arm resting on his chest, solid and heavy. It’s like a weight, but nice. The only problem is that he needs to take a piss. He breathes in and out and Rust’s arm moves with him, and the sheets are warm and it must be still too early to get up and if he gets out of the bed now, maybe he can’t figure out how to get back.  
  
“Marty,” Rust says.  
  
 _Shit._ “You’re awake?”  
  
“Of course I’m awake,” Rust says, doesn’t move his arm. “You alright?”  
  
“Of course I’m alright.”  
  
“It’s just, you’re kind of wriggling.”  
  
“I need to piss, man,” Marty says and then bites his lip. He’s in Rust’s bed, he’s in Rust’s goddamn _arms._ He kind of wants to shift closer to Rust, press himself against the warmth of his body, because god knows it’s been a long time since he’d had any of that. Half a year and more. But this is weird. “Rust –“  
  
“Go,” Rust says, pulling his arm away.  
  
Marty takes a deep breath. “I’m only going to go to the bathroom.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“I’m not going to leave.”  
  
“You can,” Rust says, “if you want to.”  
  
Marty stares at him for a few seconds. The bastard’s excellent at acting. There’s probably no fucking way to find out what Rust really thinks about him, if Rust decides not to tell him. He takes a deep breath, sits up on the mattress, then instead of climbing off, he reaches to stroke Rust’s hair. It sticks to his fingers. “Listen,” he says and bites his lip, “you and me, this isn’t a one-night-stand.”  
  
Rust doesn’t say anything. Marty realizes vaguely that he was waiting for a joke, something cold and sarcastic and a little bit offending.  
  
“I mean,” he goes on, still petting Rust’s hair, because apparently Rust is going to let him, “you and me, this is the real deal. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on and I don’t know what I’m feeling about it but we’re friends, Rust, I’m not going to just fuck off and pretend this didn’t happen.”  
  
“Really?” Rust asks.  
  
Yeah, well, it’s a good question. Marty’s a little surprised himself. But the thing is… “The thing is, we’ve been dating for a while now.”  
  
Rust bites his lip. “We have?”  
  
“Yeah,” Marty says, tries to sound confident and knows Rust sees through it. “What did you think it was, all those dinners together on Saturday nights?”  
  
“I kind of thought I was your wingman,” Rust says slowly.  
  
Marty clears his throat. “Okay, so, maybe I thought so, too. But, man, you know I’m not as clever as you.”  
  
“I never said that.”  
  
“You’ve implied it.”  
  
“No, I haven’t.”  
  
“Yeah, you have.”  
  
“No, I –“ Rust pauses and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t give a fuck about any of those women. They were nice, alright, but I was there because of you.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
He can’t read the way Rust’s watching him.  
  
“Really,” Rust says.  
  
Marty takes a deep breath. _Goddamn._ “Tell me what you want of me.”  
  
Rust frowns at him.  
  
“Because I bet that you know,” he says. “I bet you know what you want and you’re just not telling me because you think I won’t do it or something like that. Or that I’d freak out. And I can’t promise you that you aren’t right, because… well, you’re damn smart, man, you know that, I know that, so maybe you _are_ right about me. But have a little faith. At least try. Let _me_ try. Because I swear to you, if you aren’t going to tell me outright what you want, I’m never going to figure it out on my own.”  
  
Rust’s quiet for a long time. “I suppose you’re right about that.”  
  
“Of course I’m right. Just tell me, man. Did you realize that we were dating all along?”  
  
“No,” Rust says slowly, “no, I thought… I tried not to analyze it too much.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you thought you were straight.”  
  
Marty blinks. He’s still got his fingers in Rust’s hair. He pulls his hand away and takes Rust’s hand instead, entangles his fingers with Rust’s, and Rust stares at him like he doesn’t know what the fuck Marty’s up to again. “Okay, so maybe we shouldn’t give much weight to me thinking I’m straight.”  
  
“It kind of matters, though,” Rust says. He looks almost sad. Marty doesn’t know if he’s letting it show on purpose or if it’s slipping through the armor. Both options seem quite unrealistic.  
  
He squeezes Rust’s hand. “Would you kiss me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says. “If you want.”  
  
“And what else?”  
  
“You tell me,” Rust says, watching him carefully. “I’m easy.”  
  
Marty laughs and then almost pisses his pants. _Fucking hell._ “You’ve never been easy in your life,” he says, lets go of Rust’s hand and climbs off the mattress. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”  
  
“You got enough of me already?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Marty says. The words taste weird in his mouth. The silence is weird, too. When he glances over his shoulder, Rust’s still there in the bed, the sheets barely covering him up to his waist. “Maybe later,” Marty says.  
  
Rust doesn’t seem to appreciate his humor now, which is fine, because it wasn’t a joke. At least not only a joke. “Marty –“  
  
“I’m going to take a piss,” he cuts in, “and maybe brush my teeth, just in case there’s going to be kissing. You just stay there and think about what you’re going to tell me when I get back, because goddamn, I want to know what you think of all this. I want to know how you feel about me. Really. No bullshit this time.”  
  
He doesn’t wait for Rust to answer, goes to the bathroom, locks the door, takes a piss, washes his hands, brushes his teeth, too, then looks at himself in the mirror and makes a few guesses at what’s happening in here. It seems kind of obvious that he wants to date Rust. Who would’ve thought, right, but then again, he’s always known Rust’s pretty as hell.  
  
He nods at himself in the mirror, unlocks the door and goes back to Rust, who’s still sitting on the mattress.  
  
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Rust says.  
  
  
**  
  
  
It's Saturday evening again. Marty has picked the restaurant. He comes to pick Rust up at seven. He didn’t bring flowers, alright, he’s not an _idiot_ , but he’s got a chocolate box. Only because he knows Rust likes chocolate. And he thought it’d be romantic. He’s wearing his best shirt and his nicest tie and he just fucking wishes Rust’s not going to notice that he’s nervous, but, yeah, there’s no chance.  
  
When Rust opens the door, Marty gives him the chocolate box, then tries to hug him, then somehow ends up kissing him on the cheek like a total moron. But Rust seems amused and says something vaguely sarcastic about the chocolate, which makes it all better. They get into Marty’s car. Marty starts the engine and then he leans over to Rust and kisses the man on the mouth.  
  
“I thought we were going to have dinner,” Rust says a minute later.  
  
“Yeah,” Marty says. He’s breathless and hard in his pants. “Yeah, of course. Are you hungry?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Rust says, “but you look like you dressed up.”  
  
Marty kisses him. Just one more time. And then they’re going to go to the restaurant. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. For me.”  
  
“That’s very observant for you,” he says, “detective.” Goddamn, he’s going to kiss Rust one more time. Then they’ll go.  
  
Rust kisses him back. Marty’s almost sure he’s smiling. “Want a handjob or something?”  
  
“No,” Marty says, pulls back and tries to start the engine, but it’s already on. “Later.”  
  
“Alright,” Rust says. He looks perfectly serious now.  
  
“You look good, too, man.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“I like your shirt.”  
  
Rust glances at him. “Thanks.”  
  
“And your face,” he says and clears his throat, “I like your face, too.”  
  
“Bloody hell,” Rust says, “if you aren’t going to drive us to the restaurant, I’m going to do it myself.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” Marty says and starts driving.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)


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